


Misinterpretation

by starlightjedi



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic (Video Game)
Genre: Chiss Culture (Star Wars), F/M, Force Philosophy (Star Wars), Jedi Philosophy (Star Wars)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-12 10:40:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28509084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starlightjedi/pseuds/starlightjedi
Summary: The Commander may have saved Arcann’s life, but that doesn’t mean her Alliance wants anything to do with him. Medic and former Jedi Kalia Maryk is a rare exception.
Relationships: Arcann & Female Jedi Consular | Barsen'thor, Arcann/Female Jedi Consular | Barsen'thor, Female Jedi Consular | Barsen'thor & Female Jedi Knight | Hero of Tython, mentioned Female Jedi Knight | Hero of Tython/Theron Shan
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	1. in which no one really knows what’s going on

**Author's Note:**

> Just a warning before you start reading: I’ve consistently been terrible at updating fics, so please don’t expect this on any kind of schedule.

Arcann wakes to the sound of footsteps outside his cell.

For a moment, he lies frozen on the cot provided to him, wondering where I’m the galaxy he could be, before memories of last night hit him like a thousand blaster bolts at once.

The Commander, asking him to prove his trustworthiness in the aftermath of Vaylin’s party. The stiff, awkward shuttle trip back to Odessen. The vindication on the face of the goggle-wearing Zakuulan pilot as Arcann had stepped off the ship, Stormhawk and her lackeys, Shan and Beniko, standing sternly behind him.

The magnacuffs, slapped into his wrists by a pair of Republic troopers, a six-person escort to a cell, and little but the promise of Stormhawk, a woman he’s been trying to kill for a year, that he will be released once they figure out a way to keep the entire Alliance from lining up to slit his throat the moment he steps outside.

Arcann wonders why the Commnder is so determined to keep him alive.

The cell door slides open, and a Chiss woman in simple beige-and-gold clothing steps inside. She’s rather small, a foot or more shorter than he would be standing up, with long dark-blue hair pulled back in a ponytail. She carries a few tools he doesn’t recognize, and Arcann wonders if this is an interrogation.

“Arcann Tirall.” The Chiss has a low, almost melodic voice, and her tone is neutral, although it verges on forced.

“Yes.” He says, because she seems to be waiting for some sort of response. “Who are you?”

“I’m a medic, with the Alliance.”

A medic? I’m hardly injured, and even if I were, wouldn’t everyone here prefer it if I died with no treatment?

“The Commander has asked me to perform a standard checkup on you, to ensure that you are healthy enough for training.”

“Training?” Arcann wonders if they’re going to put him through some sort of military routine.

“Yes, training. Commander Stormhawk wishes for you to work with the leaders of the Force Enclave to ensure your commitment to the light side.”

Arcann nods. He’s not particularly surprised, although he expected more of a punishment. Perhaps Stormhawk thinks this to be punishment enough, or perhaps more will come later. But training with those he tried to kill, the relatives and friends of those he did murder; that is no punishment, not to Arcann. Rather, it is the only way for him to fix things.

If he even can anymore. But he has to try. For Vaylin’s sake, and his mother’s, and even for the Commander, who risked the wrath of her Alliance by sparing his life.

Perhaps he cannot make amends. But the light side— he has seen so little of it, and yet it calls to him. If the Force-wielders of the Alliance are willing to teach him of it, he will gladly listen.

The medic coughs slightly, as if to get his attention— Arcann realizes with a start that he has lost himself in thought— and gestures out the door.

“It’s easier to conduct the examination in the medbay, if you don’t mind.” She informs him. He cringes for a moment at the thought of being forced to sit and have tests conducted on him while the people he’s hurt watch, then gives himself a mental kick. You knew the consequences of offering to join her. He chides himself. And one of those is being surrounded by people who would be well within their rights if they stabbed you in the back as soon as you walked out that door.

So Arcann stands, follows the blue-skinned medic out the door, and wonders if the gods of Zakuul can hear his prayers.

~~

Kalia isn’t quite sure what to make of Arcann. The ex-prince is polite, even when he’s clearly confused— she wonders if the Commander has told him anything about what’s going to happen to him— and seems more thoughtful than anything else.

Granted, she’s never actually met the man before— holos and a few glimpses across a battlefield only— but she knows what he’s done, heard his speeches, treated his handiwork dozens of times.

It’s strange, to see the person behind all of that. She suspects it’s a bit like the Commander’s image: the Alliance, and the galaxy, see a fierce leader, a former Jedi avenging her Order, a force strong enough to stand up to Zakuul. But to Kalia, that same woman is just Myri, who has to come into the medbay for hangover pills in the mornings after cantina nights because, despite what she says, she cannot drink as much as her Mandalorian sister.

Kali wonders how much of the Arcann who walks meekly behind her was present when he bombed planets, and how much was brought out— even created— by Senya and the Voss at the Shrine of Healing.

She supposes that that isn’t the sort of question she should be asking him.

A cough from down the hallway draws her attention. It’s Koth, flanked by a few other members of the Alliance who Kalia thinks are from Zakuul as well.

“What is he doing out here?” Kali doesn’t know the name of the woman who speaks, a tan, red-haired human with an old, twisted scar on her chin.

“I’ve been instructed to give him an examination.” Kalia tells them, her well-practiced voice cool and calm. She’s found it’s the best way to soothe irritated patients.

“Can’t you do that in his cell?” It’s a shorter, blond man who speaks this time.

“I’m afraid not. There is equipment that I need to use that I can’t remove from the medbay.”

“Why does he need an exam, anyway? He’s a prisoner!” This woman is far older than the rest, with ash-gray hair and deep blue eyes.

“The Commander instructed it.” Kali hates to put this on Myri, but she really doesn’t know why Arcann needs a physical to begin Force training. It’s not a habit of hers to question orders, but, as the Alliance’s chief medic, she feels she might have some right to inquire about this. Or, at least, to send a group of angry Zakuulans to do the inquiring for her.

“Well, clearly the Commander’s judgement is flawed.” The blond man argues.

“As of the last time I checked her, she is mentally sound.” She informs him.

“Kalia.” It’s Koth, silent up until now, who speaks this time. “This is Arcann. He’s our enemy. No one here would fault you if you left him in that cell.”

“Actually, as of a few weeks ago, Vaylin is our number one enemy. This man is a prisoner, who has stated on record several times that he regrets his crimes.” Kalia cannot see Arcann’s face, but his Force presence shies away from Koth and the others.

“So that means we’re supposed to just forgive him?” Koth demands. “Have you forgotten what he did? How many people he killed?”

Kalia steps up to him, grabs his collar. “Don’t you ever ask me that.” She snarls. “Or have you forgotten that it was not only your people who were decimated?”

Koth steps back, his eyes wide, and Kali releases him, closing her eyes and letting the Force wash over her, releasing her anger into it.

“I’m sorry.” She says. “Believe me, I am not asking you to forgive him. Nor is the Commander. But she has instructed that we accept his presence on the base for the time being, and we should respect that.”

Koth nods, looking a little embarrassed. “Sorry. We’re all a little... on edge, at the moment, and, well, last night didn’t help much.”

“I don’t blame you. I think the Commander wants to have a meeting later; I assume it’s to discuss this.” Kali tells him.

“That’ll probably be a good thing.” Koth agrees.

“Yes, it probably will. Now, if you don’t mind, I do have to get to the medbay.”

“Of course.” He moves aside to let them pass. Kalia checks on Arcann’s Force presence once again, and finds him tinged with guilt.

Good. That’s what he needs, right now.

~~

As they pass the angry Zakuulans, Arcann hears the steely-haired woman muttering to the pilot.

“Why’d you back down? It’s not like she could’ve stopped us.”

“Margan,” the pilot replies, “You know who she is, don’t you? She doesn’t get angry. I don’t want to see what happens when she really does.” He sighs. “And, she’s probably right. I’d rather at least see what the Commander has to say before we do anything.”

Arcann doesn’t catch the rest of the conversation, but the snippet still seems strange. He questions if the medic— Kalia, he believes the pilot said— has some ability to influence emotions, if she took away the rage of the Zakuulans, or if they simply trust her judgment— and her anger— that much more than their own.

The former prince wonders what sort of person, exactly, he is dealing with.


	2. in which Arcann is very curious

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arcann speculates about Kalia, and Sana-Rae begins his training.

The medbay is empty when they enter, a fact Arcann is exceedingly grateful for.

Kalia has him sit on a simple chair, then begins the examination. He doesn’t have to do much, other than sit still while she scans him and pokes him with various tools. 

Arcann knows little about medicine, and other than the fact that none of them is a hydrospanner, he isn’t quite sure of the purpose of most of these instruments.

After her outburst in the hall, though, he doesn’t feel up to asking about any of them, not while she is in close range, holding a number of items that could probably kill him.

He wonders who exactly she is. She’d told the Zakuulan pilot that he had “decimated her people”, but that hardly narrowed it down. He knows too little about the Chiss to be sure of their population on any given planet he he’s conquered, but he is, at least, certain that neither he nor his father ever ventured into the Ascendancy’s territory, so she is not from there.

That is a surprise in itself. The few members of the species that he has encountered were ambassadors, Aristocrae or their underlings. He doesn’t know if lesser citizens are even allowed to leave the Ascendancy.

Arcann decides that these questions are even more likely to get him stabbed in the eye with whatever Kalia is shoving into his ear now, so he keeps his mouth shut, waiting for her to finish.

It’s over quickly, and the medic spends a few minutes at a data station, typing and muttering something inaudible. She then takes a pair of magnacuffs from a drawer, snaps them around his wrists, and gestures for him to follow her.

The former prince glances around at the base as she leads him through it. It’s not quite crowded; there’s certainly room in the halls, but he gets the sense that this place was not built for as many people as seen to be here.

The place Kalia leads him to is a strange contrast to the rough-hewn gray-brown stone of the rest of the base, which is decorated only by alternating banners of the Republic and the Empire.

This place is filled with plants and life— bright yellow grass covers the floor in the back of the room, and orange-and-green ferns stretch their leaves throughout.

Here, Arcann can sense the Force— sense the light— as easily as he could the darkness back in the throne room on Zakuul. It’s a feeling he cannot describe, although he has always been rather good with words.

Ahead of him, Kalia has stopped walking. Her head is tilted up toward the ceiling, and he thinks that her eyes are closed. The air around her begins to shimmer with a slight blue glow, like a cloud of energy. He recognizes the ability, although he himself has never been able to do it, as Force channeling, a sort of half-meditation that allows one to heal themself.

A Force-user, then? She doesn’t strike him as a Sith, but he knows the Chiss were allied with the Empire, not the Republic and the Jedi. Although, if she isn’t from the Ascendancy, that wouldn’t matter.

The medic turns back toward him, a contented half-smile on her face, and beckons for him to follow her to the back of the room.

Awaiting them is a red-skinned Voss in intricate, hooded, blue-and-gold robes.

“Sana-Rae.” Kalia greets her.

“Barsen’thor.” The Voss nods.

“I’ve asked you not to call me that.” The medic says.

“Apologies, Master Kalia.” Sana-Rae turns to Arcann. “So. Is he ready?”

“I— don’t know what he needs to do, to be ready.”

The Voss steps toward Arcann, stares into his eyes for a few moments. The ex-prince has to force himself not to look away, but the glowing blue of the woman’s strange eyes hold him in place, as if scanning for something.

“He is ready.” She nods, finally. “I will begin his instruction, but I will need the help of a few others. I will send for you to find them when the time comes.”

Kalia bows, then, with a searching glance at Arcann, she turns and leaves.

~~

As soon as Kali steps out of the Enclave, the Force around her dims considerably. She wonders, briefly, what it would be like to be able to see like that all the time, to feel the Force energy of the people around her without having to look for it.

But Kalia, unfortunately, is neither Miraluka nor Voss, nor any other species with the same feature. She is lucky to be able to sense presences at all, and she is able to do it more or less at will.

A little extra effort for a similar result is just as good. She tells herself.

The room where she meditates is not far from the Force Enclave. Well, it’s barely a room; there wasn’t space for a full meditation chamber, separate from the Enclave, so Myri appropriated a nearby closet for Kali and any others who need the space.

It’s empty, thankfully, when Kalia enters. She uses the Force to remove her lightsaber from where it’s strapped to her thigh, under her dress— she’s found it’s better to conceal her weapon when she works in the medbay, so as not to alarm people— and places it in front of her, then kneels and closes her eyes.

A Jedi is not supposed to get angry. Jedi are calm, and cool, and never allow the emotions of the dark side to enter them. Kalia allowed herself to get angry, and, in doing so, almost harmed Koth. So she allows herself to connect with the Force, feels it drawing her anger away.

There is no emotion, there is peace.

There is no ignorance, there is knowledge.

There is no passion, there is serenity.

There is no chaos, there is harmony.

There is no death, there is the Force.

The mantra is familiar, a piece of the family now lost to her. Sometimes, if she reaches out, she imagines that she can still feel some of them— Masters Yuon and Syo, perhaps, or the Padawans from the temple, who she grew up with.

But they are gone, and all that’s left is the empty threads in the Force where her connection to them used to be.

A knock at the door yanks Kalia from her meditation. With a sigh, she stands and opens it, pulling her lightsaber into her hand with the Force as a precaution.

On the other side, is a tired-looking woman with short brown hair that barely brushes her neck. The Alliance Commander.

“Are you busy?” Myri asks.

“Not unless the mission to Rishi is done.”

“They’re not due back until tomorrow.”’

“All right. What do you need?”

“Have you ever heard of a planet called Nathema?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments help me write faster!

**Author's Note:**

> Comments help me write way faster! (Also feedback would be appreciated lol)


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